


From Then Until Now

by Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based in past, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Expect Bond Quotes, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Lots of bond quotes, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pre-Relationship, Rating May Change, Rating will change, Strangers to Friends, Strangers to Lovers, Tags May Change, WIP, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/pseuds/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage
Summary: Ten years before Mycroft met Greg Lestrade at Barts Hospital as result of Sherlock's latest overdose, he met a young Constable who loved a good Bond movie. Who would have known a purple lighter would have meant so much?





	From Then Until Now

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is going to probably be a relatively slower updating WIP in comparison to my other fic Rise Of The Flightless, I'm also writing it at 3 AM so there may be mistakes. This is unbeta'd, completely written on a limb. It's probably going to be some loose related drabbles.

The rain was heavy that afternoon; well, heavy was an understatement. It was an outright downpour that had appeared without warning on what had been a rather mild November day. The streets of London were busy as always, people paying no mind to the dreadful weather.  
  
Mycroft Holmes stood beneath one of the many street lights, his trusty umbrella clasped firmly in his right hand while in his left a cigarette was clasped firmly between delicate fingers. The bite of the autumn chill caused the thin hairs at the base of his neck to stand on end, his three-piece suit doing a barely acceptable job at stopping his shivers. With a sigh that oozed from thin lips, plumes of condensation rolling in the air, he took a long and hard drag of his cigarette. Impatient frustration was working its way into his brow through a deep crease; the car he had called for nearly half an hour ago had yet to turn up. He would be having words with Anthea about this when he returned to the office. Well, after he'd returned to the office and changed into his spare suit.  
  
"'scuse me, mate?" A voice broke through the pitter-patter of the rain against the canvas of his umbrella. "Erm- hi. You haven't got a light have you?"  
  
As Mycroft glanced up he was met with the sight of a man with rather striking silver hair. Blinking a couple of times he allowed his view to whisk over the stranger, noticing the way his shoulders shuddered with the cold. He quirked a brow upwards, giving a little twist of his head before his glance dropped to his suit jacket. He reached into his pocket and grasped the small purple lighter, a cheap one from the local shop by the looks of it, and offered it. "Here."  
  
"You're a life saver," the stranger flashed a grin, rather charming when paired with the glimmer in his eye. Very charming in fact. Hands roughened by labour accepted the lighter and then dove into his own pockets to retrieve a cigarette he'd rolled earlier that day. "Left my own at work, I'm not due back there for a good couple hours."  
  
While he fiddled with the lighter Mycroft once again let his eyes wander over him. There was the subtle narrowing of said eyes as he quickly analysed the stranger. There was a radio peeking from beneath his coat, the fuzzy chatter on the channel low against the wind and rain. It didn't take a genius to know this man was in the Met, even if it didn't seem like he had been very long. The cap on his head was tilted slightly as though it were ill-fitting, pre-owned then. He was in a role in which parts of uniform, what semblance there was, were instantly recognisable. If he were more than a Constable he'd be back at the station most probably and not kitted out for a patrol.  
  
That sort of information was incredibly dull. Mycroft liked drawing up profiles of the people he would meet. It was a great way to sharpen the senses. It was especially beneficial to someone who wanted to venture into his particular line of work.  
  
"Oh!" The sudden speech stopped him from staring, "I'd better introduce myself. The name's Lestrade, Greg Lestrade."  
  
There was something about the way the stranger, Greg, had introduced himself that had caught Mycroft off guard. A thickening of an accent, a playful pout of lips and a raise of a dark brow. It almost took the man too long to understand the reference. Much to his surprise he let out a soft laugh, short, clipped, but not at all forced as his lips curled into a faint smile.  
  
"Mycroft," he found himself replying, tapping the ash from his cigarette into the gutter below and shaking his head. "I believe you are the first person to quote James Bond in order to introduce yourself I have met."  
  
Greg burst into a fit of his own laughter, the sound light as he gesturing up and down Mycroft's figure with a cheeky wink. "Well, y'know, fancy bloke in a fancy suit looking like he's ready to get a super discreet message from a super spy. I never could resist being dramatic."  
  
Looking down at himself then at Greg, Mycroft couldn't help but find humour in the situation. If the other man knew what he really did he'd realise he's really not that far off of the mark. It was almost ironic. "What sharp little eyes you've got," he teased, deciding to indulge. It wasn't every day he was in the company of someone who could appreciate a good Bond movie after all.  
  
"Yea'? Wait 'til you get my teeth," came the flawless response before Greg burst into yet another fit of giggles, "well, usually I'd wait until after the third date."  
  
A moment passed, the words sinking in. Mycroft knew it was a perfectly innocent quote but the implication along with that cheeky grin caused the colour to spread on his cheeks. That couldn't have been... flirtation? He chastised himself at the thought, who in their right mind would flirt with somebody like him? It would appear he wasn't the only one taken back judging by the way Greg's eyes widened and his lips parted for an apology.  
  
"Thunderball, a wonderful movie. It's good to see someone can appreciate that." The taller man decided to cut in before he could apologise, lips curved into a smirk if only for a beat or two before fading back into his mostly stoic expression. His eyes, however, danced with fun.  
  
"Who doesn't appreciate a good old James Bond!" Greg's eyes regained the light in them once he was sure he hadn't offended the man, grinning once again before his name was shouted over the radio. "Ah, 'scuse me a minute."  
Hearing Lestrade speak on the radio was much different to how he spoke to Mycroft. His voice was clipped, sharp, almost commanding yet it still held that familiar warmth. It was clear just by that the man was serious about his work; an admirable trait for sure. There was an area he had to check nearby, some disruptive behaviour by the local youth.  
  
"I never did ask," Mycroft said once he was done speaking, "what is your current vocation?"  
  
"Oh, uh, currently a Constable. I'm hoping to work up the ladder to D.I someday." The silver haired man smiled brightly and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing in the direction he would have to approach. "Uh, look, really weird question, but you wouldn't wanna... get coffee sometime? It's nice to talk to a Bond fan." It was a poor excuse for meeting but Greg would take it. Truth be told he found Mycroft interesting, he was intrigued by the suit and clear-cut accent. Plus with his work he didn't exactly have much time for social interaction, why not try for something different?  
  
The question, admittedly, caught Mycroft by surprise. He eyed Greg cautiously before noticing his car starting to pull up, thinking quickly before dousing out his cigarette. "I... would not be able to tell you right now. I attend meetings near here, perhaps we will meet again, Greg Lestrade."  
  
The car pulled alongside the pair and Mycroft was ushered inside, umbrella folded up and his suit getting spattered with some of the rain. He offered Greg a brief wave as his ride immediately began to drive off, noticing the lighter still pressed between his fingertips.  
  
Well, that was something he would have to get back. Someday.  
  
Greg watched as Mycroft be driven off in awe, adjusting his hat and ignoring the barked orders over the radio. He shoved his hand into his pocket, letting the lighter drop into it before he doused out his own cigarette and turned away. Greg had met many interesting people in his work but Mycroft... certainly took the cake. He smiled at the thought of the suited stranger, humming as his feet carried him off to where he needed to be. There was a hope, a faint hope, that they would meet again. 

After all, he did have to return his lighter. 


End file.
